


Illuminated

by JadeLupine



Series: We Were Once Lovers [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Kissing, Love, Nighmares, Romance, Sad, Sex, literary, sentence fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeLupine/pseuds/JadeLupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows what love is, she thinks, lying beside Hannibal. It is filling in the empty places and it is the glittering of Hannibal’s eyes and the curve of his smooth back. It was they way he rears over her, and how her head feels on his shoulders. It is the darkness in his eyes, the screams in the nights, and the glint of his hair. <br/>Hannibal and Alana navigate their unsteady relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illuminated

**Author's Note:**

> HANNIBLOOM!!!  
> I know not many people support this, but hey, if you do, please do give it a read.

**Breakfast**

He cooks for her, and he plays games with the food to watch the smile light up her eyes, she is so pale and her eyes are so bright and vivid, they look like holes burning and blazing and laughing. And so, in order to see the smile bloom again and again, Hannibal plays tricks with eggs and bacon, slices up the tomatoes in a silly, jagged way, all the time watching the flashing teeth and dazzling eyes.

 

**Graham**

Alana grieves for Will, like the turn of a kaleidoscope from grief to guilt to laughter, and he does not understand her, he feels unsteady with startling love.

 

**Second**

She knows he has lain with Will, in the same bed where she lay with him.

He knows she has lain with Will, touched him with the same hands that pleasured him.

 

**Tea**

He always cooks for her, but she always makes his tea, she loves how he takes it, a long, careful steep of sugar, cream, and milk, and she takes notes in her head about the way Hannibal’s eyes close as he is savoring the tea and her touch. She wanted to make his tea for the rest of her life-she’s decided this already.

 

**Observe**

Alana watches him, and the flick of his wrist and the fleeting clenching of his jaws, and the way he dices tomatoes and grinds up bones, and she feels herself falling irrevocably in love.

 

**Laughter**

He is thirteen years older than her, but when he sits curled in his chair, reading his medical books, she always thinks of a young boy with dark eyes and hollow cheeks, and it frightens her, because she has never seen Hannibal when he was young.

 

**Guilt**

When Hannibal was held on trial, he was free and easy, almost amusing as he calmly admitted to killing dozens of people and almost _laughed_ as he pleaded insanity. But then he sees her burning eyes in the front row of the courtroom, and his voice goes very low and terrible, and there is something behind his eyes, like a torch at the front of a legion.

 

**Love**

“What can we do for Will?” She asks the ceiling, feeling Lecter’s warmth beside her. “What can we ever do to help him?” There is bile rising in her throat and tears in her eyes, the thought of Will’s guilt made her feel sick, and the guilt follows her like a great hound, and she shuts her eyes, Alana does.  Hannibal snakes a muscled arm over her chest, and his mouth touches her neck faintly, and Alana expects the words of wisdom from him, telling her to forget Will, or to make Will understand his crime, things Hannibal always said. But today, it was different.

“Love me.” He said, his voice rolling and heavy with foreignism. “Love _me_ , Alana.”

 

**Prison**

She visits Hannibal in prison _once_ , and when she left, she feels like a great, black gaping, gangrenous wound, she feels torn and ripped and---he was so _calm_ , and callous.

 

**Mischa**

One night he wakes up screaming, his throat tearing, and Alana wakes, and she holds him until the sweating stops and the screaming is merely a painful throat, but she feels that Hannibal is aching an ache deeper than grief and pain, so she takes his hand, and she does not turn on the lights, she lights a candle instead. One by one, they light candles around the house, slowly, guiding each other in the dark, until the entire house is illuminated by fire from thousands of candles, glimmering in the dark.

He smiles, then, a tired smile.

 

**Poem**

“Do you know the first poem I had read you, back in your residency?” He asks. “So terribly long ago.”

She looks at him, her eyes shining in the dimness.

“I read…I am not resigned, to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground—“

“Yes.” Alana says, muffled into his chest, and then her throat closes up.

 

**Alana**

Hannibal thinks of her, in prison, and he is never guilty, he enjoyed the taste of human flesh, and he despised the rude, but he thinks of Alana with her blessedly absurd thoughts and glimmering hair, and he feels raw and nauseous.

 

**Hannibal**

She feels so guilty, years later, for wishing that he was there, to laugh his sarcastic laugh and tell her that she was frying the tomatoes wrongly, and she is sick with shame for wanting to feel his hand on her breast.

 

**Sex**

Her favourite view of him is when he rears above her, his impressive erection buried deep inside her where it was hot and wet, and sweat trickles down his chin and drips on her lips. She enjoys seeing his eyes roll slightly as he whispers her name through lips wet from licking her, and his hands resting on her breasts, as though they anchored him to life.

 

**Time**

Her life is divided into befores and afters, and for her, Hannibal is two people. There is the man with the glittering black eyes and the rolling tongue that kissed and cherished and _loved_ with a passion that frightened her. She has erotic dreams about him. The other is Hannibal the Cannibal, and she was frightened of his wit, his sharp tongue, and his glinting eyes. She has uneasy nightmares of him. But it is when these two figures combine that she wakes screaming into the darkness.

 

**Child**

Once, in prison, he dreamt of her coming out of her room, holding a brown haired child with star shaped hands and rosy cheeks in her arms, and the details come clearer in his brain, the purple dress the baby was wearing, and the way she laughed with all her teeth, and Alana stared at her in her inexplicable, motherly way.

He wakes, and something lurches inside him.

 

**Kiss**

The world is beginning again.

 

**Couple**

He brings her lunch at the FBI, always in a brown paper bag with the food and a rose in it. He stares at her while she eats, and he looks so vividly happy that Zeller began complaining about the ‘bleedin’ amount of love makin’ him sick.’

 

**Marriage**

 

**Birthday**

She is an old woman now, her hair is while and her hands shake, and when she opens the door with trembling fingers and looks up from her permanent stoop, it is nobody else but Hannibal Lecter standing at her door, hair fresh and white, like fluffed snow, lines creasing his handsome face, and he is holding a flower for her, like he had used to do.

“Happy Birthday, Alana.” He smiles, the lines disappearing into the existing ones.

“Who are you?” She asks, genuinely.

“It’s Hannibal.” His smile begins to frazzle at the edges.

“I’m sorry…” She says politely. “I don’t remember.”

And the tragic thing was that she really didn’t.

 

**Look**

He draws her again and again and again.

 

**Story**

“Once upon a time there was a man who would always tell you poetry and stories, and he would hold you in the cold and in the dark, and he looked like a divine being in the moonlight. He would be the friendliest man, and the most loving, and his love was dark and blooming. The strangest thing was, he wasn’t a man at all.”

 

**Death**

Alana welcomes it, because in death she can forget.

 

**Sunshine**

She is warm, and sweet and she feels happy and thriving, but then she remembers how cold and dark in must be in the prison, oh how dark, dark, dark. He deserves it, she thinks with a touch of anger lacing her thoughts, and she does not feel warm and sweet anymore.

 

**Touch**

He is rough like cinnamon and she is milk and honey. When she touches him, it is hard as bone and cold as silver, and she kisses him.

“Why are you kissing me?” He asks, for she had sprung it on him.

“Because.” She says, and does it again.

 

**Trial**

Tears are hot on her skin.

 

**Speech**

“Hannibal, are you afraid to die?”

“No, I would welcome it.”

“I am.”

“Why? It is only another adventure.”

“I fear it like a sickness, Hannibal. I want to live to a very, very old age.”

“Then what will happen?”

“We would live, you and I. Until we are old, and grey haired, and we have thirty grandchildren.”

“And then?”

“And then, if we are still in love, we will keep living, Hannibal. But if we had gotten tired of each other, we die, quietly.”

“Then, Alana. We will live forever.”

 

**Kiss**

Once, there was a night in the summertime thick with stars, and oh, he kisses her eyelids in the sliver of moon, and she remembers thinking, _we fit together_.

 

**Love Part II**

She knows what love is, she thinks, lying beside Hannibal. It is filling in the empty places and it is the glittering of Hannibal’s eyes and the curve of his smooth back. It was they way he rears over her, and how her head feels on his shoulders. It is the darkness in his eyes, the screams in the nights, and the glint of his hair.

 

**Love Part III**

For him, love is not the curl of Alana’s hair, or the redness of her lips, or the slant of her breasts. It is not the swell of the hips, or the wetness at her opening, and it is not the whiteness of her smile. For Hannibal, love is the very _idea_ of Alana, her wholeness, her being, not any individual features.

 

**Waking**

Hannibal-----where are you?

 

**Impossible**

Secretly, Alana loves the impossible. The impossible thrummed inside her every time she made Hannibal laugh so hard his stomach shook, and every time he cooked for her and it tasted bitter and bland. Both these things had only happened once, but she replayed them so many times in her infinite mind that they seemed to happen every day.

 

**Orgasm**

He screams her name through gritted teeth as he sees the sky burning with thousands of eyes.

 

**Cooking**

There is a world inside his kitchen.

 

**Love Part IV**

She navigates him as he sleeps. She runs her hands across the curve of his eyelids and the bow of his lips and runs her fingers through the hair on his torso. She finds his arousal, and she closes red lips over it.

 

**Daddy**

She called him that once, accidentally while they were kissing, and it was the first, and last time he ejaculated into his pants.

 

**Doctor**

She wanted to be a doctor because she wanted to _help_ , and this place was so confusing, and crowded, but she sees her mentor coming toward her, walking calmly. She checks his name again, afraid that she may have forgotten, and smiles at him shyly.

**Introduction**

“Hello, Miss Bloom, my name is Doctor Lecter.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> My favourite is the Mischa one, tbh.  
> Any and ALL feedback would be much appreciated, as Hannibloom fics don't have many readers, and every comment is precious.   
> Thank you so much for reading , and I'd love your feedback.


End file.
